


you win or you die

by OccasionalAvenger



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, This is a hunger games au, too many others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalAvenger/pseuds/OccasionalAvenger
Summary: Hunger Games AU featuring Jaime, Brienne, and many sad things.
Relationships: Brienne of Tarth & Hyle Hunt, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 87
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a couple of things before we start:
> 
> \- first, everyone is aged down appropriately, so if reading about teenagers and violence isn't something you're comfortable with, this probably isn't for you.
> 
> \- i've organized the characters and their districts mostly by narrative importance and disregarded a lot of familial relationships for the sake of the plot. for example, don't go thinking that catelyn stark has a son in another district. robb is robb, but not her robb.

Brienne said her goodbyes in the most lavish room she had ever seen. Nobody on Tarth would ever splurge on such enormous colored windows, or on plush carpet and silk curtains. The sand off their feet and the stiff ocean wind would ruin them within a fortnight. Air-conditioning, another luxury, rippled the ends of the curtains as Brienne sat silent and stiff, waiting. The windows were shut tight; perhaps they didn’t even open. She wondered if she would ever see the ocean again.

Her father came first. He was the one Brienne dreaded seeing the most, knowing how lost he would be without her. Tarth was a more prosperous island than many, but it was all relative in District 5, where a full belly depended on the whims of the sea. Brienne had helped her father handle their small boat since she was old enough to pull a halyard. When the guard at the door pushed her father in, Brienne stood quickly, trying to keep her face neutral. He pulled her into a crushing hug, one hand pressing her head into his chest so tightly that his heartbeat thundered in her ears. 

“Father,” she whispered, trying to get to business even though she couldn’t bear to pull away. “You must find someone else to help with the fishing. Podrick will help you, but he’s too small to haul the nets as I can. You might be able to get one of the boys from the docks, but -”

“Stop, Brienne.” Selwyn Tarth shook her fiercely. He was the only person tall enough to look her in the eye. “Come home to me, do you hear? You must. You must.”

Had he said the same thing to Galladon? Brienne blinked hard. He had to know that her chances were slim; in her seventeen years, there had been not one victor from District 5. The winners were the wealthy ones, the Careers whose Districts managed to turn the Capitol's yearly punishment into a chance for glory. They would be known and loved by the crowds by the time all the Tributes arrived in King's Landing. Nobody was going to cheer for a foul beast of a girl from District 5. 

She nodded anyway, trying to make her voice sound strong. “Of course, Father. I will try.” 

The guards wrenched him away, then, before they could say any real goodbyes, and Podrick came rushing in. He flung scrawny arms around Brienne’s waist, tears leaking into her jerkin. Brienne squeezed him tightly. 

“You have to win,” he blurted before she could speak. “Goodwin says you’re the best out of all the kids. If you get a sword, you’ll win, I know it.” 

“Podrick…” She avoided his cow-brown eyes. “I’ve never hurt anyone before.”

“You broke Simon’s arm. And Donard’s nose. And — ”

“That’s not killing.”

“Please just get a sword. Once you get a sword, everyone will know how good you are and they’ll send you loads of parachutes. Promise.” Podrick tugged on her arm, pleading. 

Brienne took a deep breath and knelt to look him in the face. Only ten years old, but she knew he would be watching with everyone else. “I promise, Pod.” And when the guards took him away, she found that she meant it.

* * *

She had seen the train only once at a distance, lagging behind Galladon as he scaled the steep cliff at a pace her shorter legs couldn’t hope to match. At the top, they could see the faint gray line of the tracks zipping over the water to the station on Five’s central island, the station where Brienne now sat. She looked out one of the sparkling clean windows, but from here the only view was of gray train station walls.

Goodwin, her sword instructor and one of two living District Five victors, had sat her and the boy, Hyle, at a polished wooden table in the tail end of the train and left to do Seven-knows-what. Goodwin talked little and said much, Galladon used to say. Brienne knew she would be wise to listen to him in the days to come. If she had to guess, she’d say he went to find Catelyn Stark, their other mentor. She had never met the old woman, who had retreated better than most victors from the public eye after her Games, but everyone in Five knew the story of how Peacekeepers murdered her husband for speaking critically of the President. 

“Goodwin will be all over you,” said Hyle, jerking Brienne from her thoughts.”

“What?”

“He knows how well you fight. I’ll be lucky if they even bother including me in strategy discussions or whatever it is we’re supposed to do now.” He snorted and ran a hand through red-brown hair that wanted washing. Brienne noticed his fingers shake as they fiddled with the long ends around his ears.

“I won’t let them ignore you,” she promised. “We should...we should be a team, maybe. We can look out for each other.”

“Why would  _ you _ want to look out for me?”

Hyle’s voice was sharp, but Brienne heard the undertone of curiosity there.  _ Because I’m afraid to die alone,  _ she might have said, but instead pointed out that they would both sleep better with someone else keeping the watch. Hyle only shrugged, but she saw him drumming sword-callused fingertips on the mahogany table and knew he was imagining how his chances might look with a partner by his side. 

It was true enough that Brienne had no reason to let Hyle Hunt live any longer than he had to. Of all the boys whose names might have come out of that bowl, it happened to be the one who she had a vested interest in thrashing. Brienne had nearly  _ kissed _ him once, a few years after Galladon’s death, when she was fifteen and beginning to realize how ugly she was. So many boys had been kind to her then, but it was Hyle who stayed longer in the yard and who came on her early morning fishing trips to the bay. 

It had been on one of those mornings that the idea of kissing him seized Brienne. She blamed the sky to this day; it had been one of those chilly, white-blue skies that made her think she had better do something before the sun’s heat ruined the color. She leaned in, smelling the salt on him, and just before their lips touched she saw his mouth wobble.

Brienne learned the details later, when she was done slamming Hyle’s face into the wet sand until the waves lapping around them carried off his blood. There had been a bet among the dock boys. Who could convince Brienne the Beauty to give him a kiss? Hyle must have felt an extra slice of terror when his name was called after hers. If anyone had a personal interest in dealing him harm, it was Brienne. 

Still, she would not leave him to die if she could help it. And perhaps he would not leave her.

Brienne’s stomach tightened into a knot as the train slid smoothly into motion. Unbidden, she found herself rushing to the window, pressing her hand against the glass to try and catch a final glimpse of her island, but the flashing cameras blinded her and she stumbled back. Goodwin had rushed them by the eager reporters on the way into the train, but now they caught Brienne’s face straight on. She cursed herself, turning away, so they did not see the tears pricking her eyes. She could not hide her ugliness, but she would allow no one to see her tears.

Goodwin came marching back, then, gesturing sharply for Brienne and Hyle to follow him into the next car. They two of them exchanged a glance and followed without a word.

Catelyn Stark waited for them at a table even more sumptuous than the last. Like Goodwin, she won her Games years before Brienne was born. Even with the white scars that raked down her cheeks, Brienne found it difficult to imagine this rather small, graceful woman killing anyone; Catelyn seemed as prim and proper a lady as Brienne had ever met. She smiled a sad smile as Brienne and Hyle filed in.

“Come, sit.” She held out a hand as though to pull them in. Closer up, Brienne saw a strange glint in her eyes that smacked of madness. She exchanged a glance with Hyle and saw that he was unnerved too.

They sat across from Catelyn and Goodwin. Brienne did her best to sit properly, hands folded in front of her.  _ No one will care if I can fight if all they see is a sow.  _

“Strategy,” said Goodwin without preamble. “You can both use a sword. Get one. Trust each other if you want, but no one else.” He looked between Hyle and Brienne. “You’re skinny...and you’re a girl. People will underestimate you. Use that.” He nodded shortly, then sat back in his chair as though someone had beaten the words out of him. A silence fell.

“Is that it?” said Hyle. 

“Try not to get killed.”

Brienne stared hard at the elaborate carvings beneath her hands. They really were splendid, elaborate dragons breathing fire so intricate she could almost feel the heat even though she knew it was wood. She knew Goodwin would not say much else, it was not his way. He had admitted to her once after a fierce sparring session that the job was simply too hard, impossible to stomach year after year. Just when she began to think she and Hyle would have to work something out on their own, Catelyn spoke up.

“Talk to the others,” she said. “Learn about them, if you can, even try to make them like you. Anything to make it more difficult for them in the end. And remember that someone is always watching.” Again, she smiled that sad smile. “You are only children,” she said distantly, her eyes focused vaguely on something behind Brienne’s head. “Children who deserve to grow taller and stronger, to love and lose, and see all the colors of the sea.”

“I promised to win,” said Brienne, hoping to draw Catelyn back from whatever haunted place only she could see. 

“I’m sure everyone else did too,” muttered Hyle. Throwing a disgusted look at them all, he rose from the table and grabbed what Brienne barely recognized as a remote, flicking on the television. The screen blended seamlessly into the wall, so different from the clunky gray box she and her father used to watch the Games on Tarth. 

They watched the newscast, a recap of the reapings across Westeros. Brienne did not want to look too closely at any of the faces, knowing they had to die if she were to survive, but she forced herself to try and follow Catelyn’s advice. 

Some stood out more than others. There was the silver-haired girl from District 3, whose faced moved not a muscle when her name was called. The boy from District 10 had a strong look about him, at fifteen already bearded and intimidating in a thick northern cloak. There were a few who struck Brienne as warriors; she thought it best to avoid the lithe, swarthy girl from Eight and the hulking 18-year-old from Two. When Brienne’s own face flashed across the screen, broad and homely, the broadcasters made snide comments about her _unprepossessing_ _features_. Brienne bit her lip hard, thinking of her father and Podrick back in Five watching her humiliation.

Catelyn Stark reached abruptly across the table and squeezed Brienne’s hand. “They will remember you,” she said fiercely, and her eyes were clear.

One pair stuck in her mind more than the rest. A twin brother and sister from District 1, golden-blonde and beautiful. Even on Tarth, people knew the Lannisters. They were wealthy, and beyond that, a family of victors. Most recently being the youngest brother, Tyrion. The dwarf boy had won the games after Galldon’s. Only twelve at the time, he was the youngest Victor ever. 

“Such a tragedy,” lamented one of the broadcasters, pulling at his shimmering green hair. “A terrible coincidence. A brother and a sister, at least one doomed to die. Oh, it will be a Games for the ages.”

_ Some coincidence,  _ thought Brienne, eyeing them. The girl, Cersei, waved serenely at the roaring crowd, one arm around her brother as though one of them wasn’t sentenced to death. The boy was called Jaime, and Brienne knew instantly that he was dangerous. Lean and loose-limbed, he was a fighter through and through. 

_ And beautiful.  _ Brienne shook her head at the thought, but it was true. The women in the Capitol would surely fawn over that curly blonde hair and sharp grin. Brienne watched him and thought,  _ Don’t get in my way _ .


	2. Chapter 2

For all Brienne tried to prepare herself, she could not stop her jaw from falling slack at the sight of King’s Landing. The train whizzed into the station almost too fast to see the skyline of the city, but she recognized the Great Sept’s towering columns and the scarlet behemoth of the Red Keep, still surrounded by ancient walls that were built before the conquest. Somewhere in there, President Aerys would be in the midst of planning the Games. 

Then they were back underground, and if Brienne had expected anything like the drab train station in District 5, she was mistaken. Everything was sleek and silver and new. Light shone blindingly from a source Brienne couldn’t see, illuminating throngs of people clamoring to catch a glimpse of the Tributes inside the train.  _ To catch a glimpse of me. _

_ _ Brienne shivered and drew back from the window. She caught Hyle’s eye and saw that he was similarly unnerved. “Like when the whale washed up on the beach,” he said, and Brienne nodded, recalling how the beaches swarmed with hungry people fighting to cut off a slice of meat for themselves. 

Goodwin and Catelyn herded them off the train, helped along by a flock of aides from the city. Brienne could not help but stare at them. Their clothes fit oddly, their hair was dyed colors she had never imagined, and even odder, they seemed truly thrilled to see her.

“This way, this way,” chirped a young woman whose hair was shot through with gold and elaborately braided to look like a rose. She steered them towards a towering building that Brienne recognized from past Games as the compound. It was to be her new home for the coming days, perhaps the last home she would ever know. 

* * *

The next hours passed in a dull haze. Catelyn and Margery, their perky escort from earlier, led Brienne to her quarters on the fifth floor. Humiliatingly, Brienne could not even figure out which button was meant to open the door. And had to call Margery back and ask for her help. The room itself was as opulent as she had come to expect: floor-to-ceiling windows, sparkling chandeliers, carpet that she sank into up to her ankles. 

Brienne found she had sweated through the simple clothes she had been wearing when they left Five. Hyle had changed on the train, but she had been unwilling to part with her last token of home. She removed them reluctantly and looked down at her bare body, wondering how it would look after someone had shoved a sword through it. 

The drawers were fully stocked with clothing that, despite all of Brienne’s expectations, was clearly made for someone of her size. Yet none of it was made for  _ her _ ; she found nothing but dresses and skirts, pretty blouses and tight pants. A lump grew in Brienne’s throat as she rifled through the dresser, desperate to find something that wouldn’t make her look like the cow she knew she was. She flung the lovely silks to the floor, kicked savagely at them as though they were the ones who had brought her here. Hot tears striped traitorously down her cheeks. They reminded her of the ragged scars on Catelyn Stark’s face. Brienne sank to the floor, a sob ripping from her chest. 

It was silly, but at that moment even the prospect of her death didn’t feel half so terrifying as that of being judged, scrutinized like a sway-backed horse at an auction. It was one thing to die. It was another to die humiliated, the whole country’s laughter ringing in her ears.

Galladon would have told her to let them laugh. Brienne sniffed, remembering how splendid her brother had looked in his interviews, blonde hair looking almost white against his dark blue tunic. He was a charming boy, Galladon, and handsome. He died all the same.

Brienne found a blue dress, yanked it over her head, and whirled from the room. Margery would come at some point to bring her for dinner, but Brienne had no appetite, especially not for the rich fare she knew she could expect here.

She found herself on a wide balcony dotted with strange swinging chairs, gazing out onto Blackwater Bay. Night suited King’s Landing. The dark water reflected the city lights, a riot of color flickering along with the waves.  _ Like stars _ , Brienne thought, if the stars came in pink and green and blue. She leaned forward over the rail, trying to catch a whiff of salt on the breeze, but could smell nothing over the city itself. Food cooking, strange perfumes, tiny train cars whizzing along elevated rails. The smells of a city drunk on death.

“You can’t jump, you know. There’s a force field.”

Brienne started, hand leaping to her hip for a sword that wasn’t there. Jaime Lannister raised his eyes at the movement. He reclined in one of the chairs, so relaxed that Brienne thought it had to be an act. Quickly composing her features, she said, “I wouldn’t jump even if we could.”

“Ah, you have an ending in mind, then? So do I. Let’s not spoil it for those watching, however.” He gestured languidly at a small camera Brienne hadn’t seen. She shuddered, glad that the darkness would hide the tear stains cooling on her cheeks. “We would all do well in the coming days to remember that someone is always watching,” said Jaime mildly, clearly not fooled. 

“Wise advice,” said Brienne stiffly, sorely wanting to leave but loathe to let this rich boy drive her from the one peaceful place left to her. The dress felt too tight around her shoulders.

He smiled, pushing long blonde hair back from his face.“You know my name, don’t you?”

“Lannister.” 

“I guess that’s the important part. Most people call me Jaime, though. And your name, District 5?”

“Brienne.” She nearly offered her last name, but wondered if he would somehow recall Galladon. 

“Brienne. The cameras did you no justice. You’re somehow even more... _ substantial _ in person.”

“Piss off,” Brienne growled. The casual cruelty in his face was all too familiar. She had seen it countless times, always following some less-than-clever jape. Suddenly her fear of humiliation seemed ridiculous; even here in the Capitol, the words hurled at her were nothing she hadn’t heard before. 

“I meant no offense, Five, believe me. I only noticed that your dress seems to be trying desperately to make a mistake.” He laughed, and Brienne snatched at the offending sleeve. 

“I won’t be wearing dresses in the Arena,” she said, feeling a surge of peculiar delight as the amusement briefly dropped from his face.

“More’s the pity,” said Jaime, recovering swiftly. “The color looks nice with your eyes.” He rose smoothly from the chair. “I’ll leave you to your night, Five. We’ve only so many left.”

* * *

When Brienne returned to her room some time later, a boys’ shirt and trousers sat neatly folded by the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18 year old jaime would be insufferable, i think. your comments are always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

“We’re fish,” said Hyle.

“It’s meant to evoke fish, yes.” Sansa fluttered around Brienne, making tiny adjustments to the fabric to no discernible effect. 

Brienne exchanged a look with Hyle and nearly smiled at his expression. He was right; they were fish. In truth, though, the tunic that Sansa and her assistants had spent ages tailoring to fit Brienne’s bulk was beautiful. Cleverly layered scales covered the whole thing, iridescent blue, and fit together as smoothly as real fish scales. Brienne and Hyle could not move without sending off brilliant shatterings of silver-blue light that startled the horses hitched to the chariots around them. The sleeves were long and flowing, sewed onto the body, unlike any tunic Brienne had ever seen. When she lifted her arms, the sheer fabric resembled the fins of some great leviathan. Flimsy, silken rope woven into a kind of fishing net served as their cloaks and belts.

“The weakest of autumn storms in District 5 would shred this in a heartbeat,” said Brienne, lifting her belt to inspect the rope. She tried to imagine it holding a shoal of thrashing silver fish or making up the rigging on a boat and grimaced.

“Yes, well, luckily for us, King’s Landing isn’t in the old Stormlands,” said Sansa. Brienne shot her a glance, surprised that she cared enough to know what Five had been called before the Conquest, but Sansa didn’t look up from where she was fussing with Hyle’s reddish hair. “Who wants to scrape their hands with old fishing rope anyway?” she added with a delicate shudder. “Honestly, I’ve no idea how you all do it.”

Brienne shook her head. The people of King’s Landing were a mystery to her, willing to carve and dye and reshape their bodies but appalled at the thought of tearing a fingernail on a fishing net. Sansa was a bit different, though, she acknowledged as the girl left Hyle’s hair for Brienne’s. The little stylist was a first-timer to the Games, hardly older than Brienne herself. Her face was lovely to look on if made a bit strange to Brienne’s eyes by the feathers inlaid on her skin. 

“Judging by what you’re wearing, I’m guessing the gown I’ve designed for you isn’t going to be to your liking,” Sansa had sighed when they first met a few days before. Brienne, still wearing the boys’ clothes Jaime Lannister left at her door, could only nod. “It was a beautiful dress, too.” Sansa pouted, but quickly waved away her disappointment and got to work taking measurements and doing what she called “playing around” with makeup.

Brienne had been surprised at the older girl’s willingness to understand. She had feared that she would be paraded out in some tight dress, caked in makeup, but Sansa had kept it simple.

“There,” said Sansa with satisfaction, stepping back. Brienne put up a hand to feel the elaborate updo that her straw-like hair had become, only to have her hand slapped away with a shriek. “Don’t touch,” yelped Sansa, though her eyes were amused. 

“I don’t like my hair up,” said Brienne.

“Because it shows your face?” Sansa’s voice was kind, despite her words. She took both of Brienne’s hands in hers. “Let them see, Brienne. And show them worse, when the time comes.”

Brienne blinked and nodded, her chest suddenly tight. No one had spoken so kindly to her since she left home. Sansa patted her cheek and whisked away, leaving Brienne and Hyle alone next to their chariot. 

Outside the long tunnel where they waited, they could hear the roar of the waiting crowd. The horses stirred restlessly at the noise. Brienne scratched the dappled neck of one of them and tried to avoid Hyle’s eyes. 

“We should mingle,” he said. His tunic was a mirror of Brienne’s. “Catelyn said we should make people trust us.” 

“I wouldn’t trust anyone who just came up and talked to me,” said Brienne, casting a look  around.

Hyle rolled his eyes. “That’s because no one ever does.” He turned on his heel and strode  off in the direction of a pair in wolf’s cloaks that Brienne recognized as from District 10. Hyle seemed to strike up a conversation easily enough, gesturing over his shoulder at Brienne. She turned away quickly, suddenly embarrassed about what he might say.

“They don’t need to like me to be bad at killing me,” Brienne told the horse. 

“Doesn’t hurt, though.”

Brienne bit her lip in annoyance. She turned, finding Jaime leaning against her chariot. “Why are you following me?”

“Following?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “You were the one who burst into my hiding place that night. Now I’m simply greeting an old friend.”

Brienne huffed. “I guess your mentors told you to make friends, too?”

“Tyrion? My little brother’s advice boiled down to something like ‘be yourself, but not too much.’ No one wants that, I suppose.”

Brienne figured it wasn’t true, but smiled in spite of herself. Jaime laughed. He was armored in glittering gold, a red cape fluttering around his shoulders. The armor was far too intricate and heavy-looking to be of any use in a fight, but he wore it well. Brienne supposed it was better than being dressed as a gold miner, anyway. Near the entrance to the tunnel, she could see the sister, Cersei, magnificent in a glittering gown of a matching hue.

Jaime followed her gaze. “My twin isn’t much for making friends, either,” he said. 

“She’ll have to hope that people are bad at killing her, then,” Brienne replied.

“No,” said Jaime. “She only needs them to be bad at killing me.”

His eyes glinted with something dangerous, and Brienne reminded herself that her initial impression of this grinning, friendly boy was that he was one to watch. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, a voice sounded over the loudspeaker instructing the Tributes to return to their chariots for the start of the parade.

“Look for me out there, Five.” Jaime’s smile returned, and he loped back towards his sister.

Brienne sighed. Careful of her fishing net cloak, she climbed into the chariot. There were no reins that she could see, and she wouldn’t have known how to use them even if they were there. She had never learned how to ride properly on Five, where most people didn’t have money for a horse anyway.

The carriage shook as Hyle clambered in. “Were you talking to Jaime  _ Lannister _ ?” he said, reaching around to disentangle his cloak from the back crossbar. 

Brienne rolled her eyes at his tone. “Didn’t you say to mingle?”

“I didn’t think you’d go for rich boys.”

“I’m not going for anyone,” Brienne muttered. A horn blasted, and as one, the horses began trotting forward. “Did you make friends?”

“Sort of.” Hyle looked as tense as Brienne felt. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his face paled slightly as the first chariots cleared the mouth of the tunnel and the crowd erupted into cheers. “The boy from Ten, his name is Robb. He’s younger than we are, but he let slip that he can use a sword. He was talking with Theon. That’s the smiley one from Seven.” Brienne thought she remembered the boy, rangy and covered in iron links as befit a Tribute from the iron mines.

_ Stand straight,  _ she reminded herself as they neared the end of the tunnel. Her stomach roiled with fear, but she made herself lift her chin and push her shoulders back. 

Hyle flinched at the blinding city light, but Brienne did not. She met the noise and the heat wash over her like a wave; you couldn’t fight it, only go where it took you. The horses trotted in a line down the streets of King’s Landing. People shouted from every direction, lining the roads, hanging out of apartment windows, sitting on enormous bleachers. 

The city heat was making Brienne’s cheeks flush. She caught sight of the District 5 chariot on one of the massive television screens. The scaled tunics really were quite impressive, all Brienne felt that she could see every flaw in her face. She clung to what Sansa had told her.  _ I will show them something worse. _

The parade pulled into the old Dragonpit, an immense arena that had once been a domed castle in the days before the Conquest. Brienne remembered from school that the ancient kings and queens of Westeros kept their dragons within, back when there had still been dragons in the world. If the stories were to be believed, dragonfire would have melted the shining steel arcs that decorated the top of the arena like ice in the summer. 

The horses pulling the chariot drew to a halt in a half-circle before an enormous raised stage. President Aerys, whom Brienne only recognized at a distance from his wild gray hair, began to give the official welcome, but her attention wandered towards the end of the formation, towards the District 1 chariot. 

The Lannister twins flashed golden in the dying sunlight. Cersei’s gaze was fixed regally on the stage; following it, Brienne noticed a straight-backed man with slick blonde hair standing to the President’s right.  _ Tywin,  _ she thought, remembering him from some government speech they had been forced to watch in school. The only District-born man to hold a place in the Westerosi government. A Victor in his own right. And the Lannisters’ father. 

_ Is he angry that they have reaped both his children?  _ Brienne wondered.  _ Surely he understands this is hardly an honor.  _ She looked back at the twins and blinked in surprise to see Jaime staring back.  _ He did say to look for him.  _ As though reading her thoughts, Jaime smiled broadly, sweeping into a showy bow made all the more splendid by his armor and cape. 

Brienne shook her head, though something was endearing about his unfailing cheeriness in the face of death. It occurred to her that perhaps Jaime did not expect to die. Why would he, when he had all the wealth of District 1 and a family of Victors behind him? She remembered how easily he moved, how well the armor sat on his shoulders.  _ Perhaps he has something worse in store for us, too.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! let me know what you think :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the slow update! between thanksgiving and finals, it's been hectic around here. this chapter was a bit challenging to write, but i'm very excited about where the story goes from here. enjoy!

Goodwin instructed Brienne and Hyle to approach the training compound the same way they would approach sparring in the yard.

“Don’t get flashy,” he’d said that morning while they picked over a breakfast spread that could have fed half a village. “Show everyone what you know, but don’t be afraid to learn from the others. Learn something new if you can.” He glanced at Catelyn Stark, who said nothing. She hadn’t spoken a word since before the parade. Her eyes had a fogginess to them that made Brienne suspect that she was losing herself to her memories. Hyle was convinced that she was utterly mad.

The two of them entered the compound together. It was the first time all the Tributes had been assembled in person this way, and few dared speak. Even in the silence, though, Brienne could sense the nervous energy. She stared around at their little semicircle, trying to size up her enemies now that they stood before her in plain clothes. 

She was easily bigger than all of the girls and most of the boys. Only Jaime Lannister and the monstrous boy from District 2 stood close to her in height, though a few looked stocky and strong. Brienne felt a pang of sympathy for the kids from the poorer Districts, the ones where even the strongest among them were wiry and gaunt around the eyes. Had the Reaping not drawn two names from Tarth, the District Five Tributes would likely have looked the same.

The head trainer arrived and gave a brief rundown of the training schedule. She directed their attention around the cavernous training room, pointing to different stations manned by expert teachers. Brienne eyed the rack of swords, hoping to get there before the Careers, who would surely know how to handle the deadliest weapons with ease. Tributes were forbidden from fighting each other, but Brienne still cringed at the thought of an audience.

Sure enough, Jaime and his sister led the charge over to the weapons the moment the trainer released the group. Cersei picked up a long dagger, flipping it around her fingers with an ease that made Brienne shudder. At Cersei’s shoulder, Jaime grinningly brandished a sword.

Brienne saw instantly that she had been correct to think him dangerous. Even in a casual stance, it was clear that the blade was an extension of his arm, the claw on the end of a lion’s paw.

“We are fucked,” said Hyle. He had been following Brienne’s gaze. “Do you know how to make a fire? I’ve never made one in my life.”

N either had Brienne, so they wandered over to the pyromancer’s station. The tiny, bespectacled man there not only taught them to make a campfire, he also showed them how to craft torches, burning brands, and little balls of kindling that burst into flame on impact.

Brienne’s palms were rubbed raw by the end of it, and she still wasn’t convinced she could start a flame on her own. Hyle drifted off towards a ring of kids learning hand-to-hand combat, leaving her alone. 

Her fingers itched for a sword, and without conscious thought, she found herself at the rack of swords. The station was emptier now, just Jaime and another Career, Stannis, drilling with a short ways away. Brienne poked through the blades until she found one balanced to her liking, then slipped into a fighting stance opposite one of the instructors. 

She could see the doubt in his eyes, could hear Jaime and Stannis’ blades clanging to her right, but it all faded as she stepped forward and swung.

Oh, how she had missed this, missed the jolt of steel on steel, the whoosh of air past her ears, the grunts from her opponent as she drove him back. Brienne knew in seconds that the trainer wasn’t a match for her, but she let it go on for a few more precious moments before he made a mistake she couldn’t ignore. He overcommitted to a thrust at her ribs; Brienne neatly stepped out of the way and knocked the blade from his hands. It fell to the mat with a thud, and she leveled her sword at his throat. 

A frisson of confidence ran through Brienne’s bones. Perhaps Podrick and Hyle were right. Surely most of the Tributes would fall before her blade even more easily than the trainer. If she could get her hands on a blade…

She and the trainer sparred a few more rounds. Brienne won them all, but Dawsin turned out to be a willing teacher once she crushed his initial doubts. He showed her a few techniques for fighting in close quarters that Brienne was happy to learn. “You’re bigger than most, anyway,” he told her, “so if things get tight, you might be better off just dropping the sword and using your fists.”

“What a way to go,” came a familiar voice. Jaime leaned on his sword at the edge of the mat like Brienne had been taught never to do, blonde hair curling even more than usual as his sweat dried. His tone held a cruel edge that she hadn’t heard before, and Cersei stood at his shoulder. “Crushed to death by Big Brienne’s leathery paws.”

“You certainly look like someone does a lot of hands-on work,” Cersei said to Brienne with mild distaste. She flicked her eyes up and down Brienne’s body. Her expression didn’t change, but Brienne felt the scorn like a lash. Suddenly self-conscious, she raked a hand through her hair so that it covered more of her face. 

Brienne wanted to make a cutting remark, something about how they would soon regret mocking her strength, but her face felt hot and her tongue was too big in her mouth. Before she could speak, a bell rang for lunch, and the twins disappeared.

“Guess what?” said Hyle when Brienne sat down heavily beside him. “I can build a bloody shelter now. Assuming the Arena is full of dry wood and strips of moss just waiting to be turned into bedding.”

“At least we’ll be sleeping comfortably,” Brienne muttered. Her lamb stew tasted too rich, sat too heavily in her stomach. She pushed her spoon around the bowl, half wishing that they could do away with all the training and start the Games tomorrow.

A few of the Tributes seem to have already given up, like the stocky, plain-faced boy from District 8 who was the only other person sitting at Brienne and Hyle’s table. He ate silently and didn’t seem to have any particular skills, though Brienne reminded herself that he could be playing at appearing mediocre. Further down the floor, Jaime burst into laughter alongside the hulking red-haired boy from District 12, who somehow had a full beard at sixteen. The boy from Twelve was no Career, but he had the look of a fighter about him and had quickly become a part of their group. They would form a pack, Brienne knew. Jaime and Cersei seemed to be at the heart of it, with enormous Gregor from District 2 and Stannis and Melisandre from District 4 joining them. 

Jaime caught Brienne’s eye from down the table and his smile widened, not for her, but at something his sister whispered in his ear. Brienne pushed her stew away.

Three days passed like that. Brienne improved her fire-making and picked up a talent for throwing knives. She and Hyle were both clever at ropes, their practiced ship’s knots translating easily to snares and human traps. 

The Careers remained rather jovial, but Brienne sensed the tension building. Goodwin and Catelyn spent breakfast and dinner every day review strategy and picking over every detail of Brienne and Hyle’s interactions with the other Tributes. Hyle always had the most to say; he was the only one who bothered following their instructions to mingle. Brienne kept quiet about the Lannisters’ increasingly cruel japes, thinking that only she had noticed until Hyle brought it up at their final breakfast before the end of training.

“The Lannister twins have an interest in Brienne,” he said casually, crunching on a strip of bacon.

Goodwin leaned forward. “An alliance?”

“Hardly.” Hyle snorted, rolling his eyes at the glare Brienne fixed on him. “They mock her every chance they get, and it’s catching on with the other Tributes. Just yesterday, I heard Theon from Seven saying she was hairier than a boar, and he isn’t even in the Career pack.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Brienne, though her cheeks felt flushed. “Their talk doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course it matters. They’re turning people against you.” Catelyn looked more alert than she had in days. She gripped Brienne’s wrist, fingernails digging into soft flesh. “They see you as a danger, child. They want the others to hate you because they know anyone with you on their side has a chance.”

Brienne blinked. “It’s working,” she said flatly. She could hardly walk between stations without leering eyes burning into her back. “I’ve no choice but to ignore them.”

“Don’t ignore it, use it,” said Goodwin. He pried Catelyn’s fingers from Brienne’s arm. “They make you into a joke, you see how hard they laugh with your sword at their throats.”

“What about me?” said Hyle. “Nobody wants to ally themselves with me when I’m trooping around with Brienne the Beauty.”

“Leave me alone, then,” snapped Brienne, rising from the table. “Face the wrong end of my sword if you wish.”

Hyle took her advice. While they waited around that afternoon for their personal sessions, he sat with his growing circle of friends whose names Brienne only knew because of Hyle’s nightly reports on their abilities. Robb and Lyanna from Ten, and Theon from Seven. Brienne sat alone. 

When her name was called she tried to stride confidently into the private room. The Gamemakers watched with mild interest as she swung a sword around and lifted the heaviest weights provided at the display. Swordplay wasn’t terribly impressive without a partner, but Brienne couldn’t bring herself to ask for an opponent. 

She left unsure of what to think and was somehow unsurprised to find Jaime Lannister waiting outside the elevator when she stepped off. 

“Wave a sword at them?” he asked. “That’s what I did.” Brienne ignored him and swiveled in the direction of her room. “ _ Hey _ .” He followed her. “Will you listen to me for one second, you big stubborn—”

Brienne turned on her heel, causing Jaime to smack directly into her chest. “Say whatever you have to say quickly.”

“I’m apologizing. For the way my sister and I have acted for the past few days. It was her idea, really, to needle you like that.”

“You still did it,” said Brienne. She couldn’t understand where he was going with this apology. They weren’t friends, they were barely acquaintances, and soon they would be out to kill each other.

“It’s my sister’s show. I’m just part of the talent.” Jaime’s words were light, but his face was apologetic. As though he were apologizing only for a rude comment, not a coordinated strategy to turn the other Tributes against her.

Brienne thought his comment strange but didn't have the energy or desire to argue with him. She set her jaw. “Don’t talk to me again, Jaime. I’ll see you in the Arena.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading! comments are appreciated, and you can find me on tumblr @ summer-songs. come talk to me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter here! dialogue is my favorite thing to write, so i couldn't resist letting these two sit down and hash it out for a while.

“Brienne, wait.” Jaime slid past Brienne’s shoulder, turning to block her path down the hallway. Brienne’s ears began to ring as they did before a fight, but Jaime put up his hands, eyes pleading. “Just let me talk, and I promise I’ll leave you alone afterward.”

_ He looks like a little boy,  _ thought Brienne abruptly, her anger subsiding all at once like a wave drawing back from the sand.  _ We’re all just little children who want to live.  _ She nodded and gestured for him to speak, but Jaime shook his head. 

_ Not here,  _ he mouthed. Brienne frowned, her interest piqued even more than before. Jaime led her up to the roof, where the city sounds and tinkling wind chimes would block out soft conversation. 

Jaime sat on the edge of the building and motioned for Brienne to join him. He didn’t speak for a time, and Brienne began to wonder if this had all been part of some trick.  _ Perhaps he’ll try to kill me up here where no one will see.  _ She didn’t move.

“I hope we’ll be able to see stars in the Arena,” Jaime said at last. His head was tilted back at the sky. “You can hardly see any here in the city. Back in One, my sister and I used to sneak out to these cliffs above the mines at night and look for shooting stars over the ocean. When I was little, I thought the ocean went as far as the sky.”

Brienne blinked. Whatever she had thought he wanted to tell her, it wasn’t this. “I didn’t realize District 1 was near the ocean too.”

“Oh, yes. It’s a cold ocean, though, and too rocky for sailing. Or so my father says, anyway.”

“Your father must have been devastated after the reaping,” Brienne said politely. From what she knew of Tywin Lannister, he wasn’t the type to be devastated about anything, but surely even such a man cared for his children. 

Jaime snorted. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? It’s his fault, after all.”

Again, Brienne felt taken aback. “How could that be?”

“It’s hardly a coincidence that my sister and I both had our names called. I didn’t even volunteer — although I would have,” he added, casting Brienne a quick glance. “President Aerys doesn’t like my father much. Thinks he’s overstepping. Probably because he is. So his two eligible children get their names magically drawn. Terrible tragedy.” Jaime’s smile flashed like a razor blade. “Cersei said he never even came to say goodbye to her. He came to me, though, told me to win. He chose me over my sister, see? I always was his favorite.”

The story hung heavy between them when he finished. Brienne could not think of what to say. She tried to imagine her father’s reaction if she and Galladon had been called in the same year and couldn’t picture anything but terrible grief. 

“I had a brother,” she offered eventually. “His name was Galladon and he was three years older than me. They called him when I was thirteen. He was strong, but…” Brienne closed her eyes, but that only made the memories clearer. He’d been gaunt by then, stumbling through the snowy pine forest just ahead of his pursuers, bleeding from half a dozen different wounds. Her father had left the room, then, but Brienne stayed. Brienne watched. “The Career pack hunted him down. He came home in a brown box and we scattered his ashes at sea.” She opened her eyes to find Jaime watching her, his green eyes shadowed. 

“You didn’t volunteer?”

“I was thirteen,” Brienne repeated. “We helped my father with the boats. He couldn’t afford to lose both of us.” Yet, she could still remember the initial urge to sprint onto the stage alongside her big brother, the childlike conviction that  _ something _ could be done. But the girl’s name had already been called, and what was Brienne to do for her brother at thirteen, anyway? Galladon had been sixteen and it hadn’t mattered. 

“Sorry,” said Jaime, quickly, and Brienne realized that her eyes burned with unshed tears. He offered her his jacket and she wiped her face. “It’s just…” Jaime rubbed at his cheek. “I can’t imagine going anywhere without Cersei. When they called her name, it was like I already knew mine would be next.”

He straightened, then shook his head like a dog. It was an oddly endearing gesture, and Brienne found herself staving off a laugh. “None of this is why I brought you up here. What I wanted to say was that I’m not going to win these Games. Cersei is. Even if it wasn’t my plan already, it would be worth it to spite my father. I’m going to do everything I can to keep her safe until the end. If that means hurting people who get in the way — and I know it will — I’ll do it. Even you.”

“Even me?” Brienne snorted, although she was disturbed by his declaration. “I’m no one to you, Jaime.”

“But you’re good. I can tell. Don’t act like you’re not trying to figure out how you can fight honorably to the end. I bet you felt like one of those old knights in that blue tunic.” He grinned, somehow cruel and understanding at once. “Yeah, I used to read those stories too.”

Brienne rose, done with him and his mockery. “You make it sound so stupid, as though you aren’t the one who just told me about your suicide mission. How do you even know if your father didn’t say goodbye to Cersei? Maybe she’s just using you to win.”

“Shut your mouth,” snapped Jaime, scrambling to his feet and shoving Brienne in the chest before she could react. She stumbled, but recovered fast enough to grab his shoulder and wrench him into one of the wooden trellises, sending the chimes jingling frantically.

Jaime spat blood at Brienne’s feet. “You think you’re so high and mighty, just wait. I bet you’ll turn into one of the savage beasts and try to rip my head off in the Arena.”

“You would deserve it,” said Brienne. Her chest ached where he had pushed her. For some reason, the sight of his blood softened her. She picked up his jacket and handed it to him. “Why even tell me this?”

Jaime pressed the jacket to his mouth. “I just wanted someone to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all for reading! as always, i adore your comments. you can find me on tumblr at summer-songs!


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Goodwin finished prepping Brienne and Hyle for their interviews, he was convinced that two people less suited for the camera were nowhere to be found in all of Westeros. The three of them drilled for hours, answering mock questions, practicing charming laughs, working out what angle would best endear them to the people of the Capitol. 

Brienne knew before they began that she would charm no one. She wasn’t pretty, and she hardly had a way with words. Goodwin pressed her to be sullen and threatening, but they quickly learned that cameras rendered her unable to speak without turning red as a slaughtered sow and about as talkative. 

Hyle fared only slightly better. He could be affable when it suited him, but as Goodwin noted — and Brienne had to agree — his face was unmemorable, and he had a way of sounding insincere even when answering Goodwin’s lowball questions. He mentioned a little sister who toddled after him, though, and Brienne saw his face brighten for the first time. “Good,” said Goodwin in his gruff way. “Say you miss her. You want to win for her. They love that stuff here.”

“I  _ do _ miss her,” said Hyle.

Goodwin didn’t seem to hear. He had grown increasingly distant as the Games approached, talking even less and spending hours away from the compound. Hyle told Brienne that the Tributes he’d befriended spent far more time with their mentors. “Because they actually care if their Tributes live,” he’d said, but Brienne wondered if perhaps Goodwin cared too much.

She walked in a funk to see Sansa for her fitting. The little stylist wrangled the day’s happenings out of Brienne, nodding sympathetically without ever looking up from her fluttering fingers. 

“They're going to laugh at me,” Brienne finished softly. “Sometimes, I think I can handle anything they do to me as long as I don’t have to hear the laughter.”

“Oh, Brienne.” Sansa finally paused. She perched on a stool with hands folded in her lap. “Do you remember what I told you before the parade?” Brienne nodded. “You must remember that for me. All of this is a huge, silly show, lots of glitter and neat edges. We like that here. But once you enter the Arena, Brienne, the song is yours to sing. And something tells me you will sing it well.” She flicked a strand of red hair out of her face. “Anyway, if I have anything to do with it, you’re at least going to look amazing. And I have  _ everything _ to do with it.”

In the end, Brienne couldn’t quite agree, but she couldn’t find it in herself to protest, either. The deep blue gown moved as easily as water around her feet, and the shoulders fit her breadth in a way that made her look almost elegant, rather than bulky. A thick leather belt cinched it at the waist. 

“It’s lovely, Sansa,” said Brienne, as the team finished braiding her hair and putting the final touches of light makeup on her cheeks.”

“One more thing.” Sansa grinned. She produced an ornate golden scabbard complete with a matching sword and fixed it to Brienne’s belt. “There.” She stepped back and nodded. “Nobody will forget that you’re a warrior. Least of all you.”

Brienne swallowed the lump in her throat and drew the blade. It was heavy and poorly balanced, overly decorated and clearly meant only for show, but it was a sword, and it felt like home.

She slept poorly that night, and it seemed like no time at all before she found herself seated on a white-hot stage with all the eyes in the world watching, waiting. 

The murmuring of the crowd rose to a dull roar as stage technicians scampered about, checking mics, adjusting the lighting, testing angles. Every so often, Brienne caught sight of herself on-screen and quickly looked away before the reality of what she was about to do could hit her. Already, her heart flittered like a rabbit’s. 

To her right sat Stannis, the dour 15-year-old from District Four who had drilled with Jaime in the training compound. His stylist had evidently sought to liven him up with a truly horrid yellow and black-patterned suit. It hurt Brienne’s eyes to look at, but perhaps that was keeping with the fashions of the Capitol.

Hyle sat to her left. Sansa had allowed him a neat black suit with a tie to match the color of Brienne’s dress. His light brown hair was slicked back in a way that Brienne thought made him look older than sixteen. She wondered if her dress had the same effect on her.

Hyle fiddled with the long strands of hair that curled around his ears. Sansa would be furious. Brienne fought the urge to smack his leg to stop it from bouncing up and down. “Listen,” he said, turning to her, “Don’t mention anything about what happened with us, okay?”

Brienne frowned. “What happened?”

“The stupid kiss thing when we were younger.”

“Oh.” Brienne shook her head. “Hyle, it never crossed my mind.”

“Well, good. Because that could go badly for me.” He looked suddenly abashed. “I am sorry for it, you know,” he muttered, barely audible over the din. “I wouldn’t do anything like that now.”

Brienne wanted to challenge him, wanted to remind him that he shed her like a torn jacket the moment her presence turned into a disadvantage, but she remembered his little sister and paused.

_ Maybe he would have grown up someday. Maybe we all would have.  _

“We have bigger things to worry about,” was all she said, and then the lights went down and someone off stage held up three fingers, then two…

Daario Naharis looked exactly as he always did on television: bold and boisterous and always, always smiling. His gravity-defying mustache was dyed a royal purple that clashed terribly with the bright orange of his beard and hair. He quickly welcomed his audience to the Games, then beckoned the first Tribute, Cersei Lannister, to the chair opposite him.

It came as no surprise to Brienne that Cersei had the audience in the palm of her hand the moment she sat down. Her long golden hair flashed in the light every time she laughed a high, tinkling laugh. Brienne watched her with some curiosity, Jaime’s confession still heavy in the back of her mind. She had spoken in anger when she accused him of being used, but listening to Cersei now, it became apparent to Brienne that this was a girl who was used to getting what she wanted. 

When Daario mentioned the awful tragedy that she should be reaped alongside her brother, Cersei shook her head. “We came into this world together, it’s only right that we should face this next challenge together, too.” The crowd hummed in sympathy, but Brienne fought the urge to screw up her mouth. Cersei put a hand on her heart. “When my father came to say his goodbyes, he told me that his only wish was that he could take our place.” 

“An agony only a parent can understand.” Daario patted Cersei’s knee as the timer rang, ending her interview. The audience roared applause as she glided back to her seat.

_ Liar,  _ Brienne thought, trying not to glare down the line of Tributes.  _ But is she lying to us, or to Jaime? _

Jaime himself was next, and he was as beautiful and charming as Brienne had come to expect. He joked easily with Daario, spending most of his time on a story about how he once jumped off a cliff and into the sea to defy his father. The tale made everyone laugh, but Brienne found herself wondering if it had indeed been so funny at the time. Jaime appeared smoothly unbothered by his sister’s comment about their father, even giving his sister a hug when he returned to his seat.  _ Perhaps he lied to  _ me.

Time seemed to pass alternatively in sluggish stretches and rapid bursts until abruptly Stannis was walking back to his chair and Daario Naharis was waving Brienne forward. She walked to the plush interview chair in a daze, feeling as though she was watching herself through one of the massive TV screens that surrounded her.

“So, Brienne.” Daario smirked. Brienne thought he seemed less handsome up close. “I was planning on asking just what you did in your private session to earn that ten, but that great big sword on your hip is giving me a rather large hint.”

For a moment, Brienne could not breathe, could only feel the blood racing to her face. The silence stretched awkwardly. She took a deep breath and placed a hand on the hilt of the sword, letting the familiar weight calm her.

“I’ve been training with a sword since I was five,” she said, surprised at how strong her voice sounded. “Goodwin, my instructor, was a Victor himself.”

“The best student I’ve ever had,” called Goodwin from where he sat with the other mentors. Brienne felt herself flush even more with a combination of embarrassment and gratitude. 

“High praise.” Daario raised his eyebrows. “Tell me, Brienne, do you think you have any... _ attributes _ that make you uniquely suited to the Arena?”

The crowd tittered. So did some of the Tributes behind her. Brienne felt suddenly too big and too small all at once. She sank her teeth into her lip, gripping the hilt of the sword at her waist. “I’m strong.”

“As an ox, if the resemblance is anything to go by.” The crowd howled. Blood rushed in Brienne’s ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sansa’s red hair in the row of stylists.  _ This is my song to sing.  _

She stood abruptly, tearing the sword from its scabbard. The auditorium fell instantly silent. Brienne twirled the blade above her head, then used her wrist to flick in down in a large arc to rest just below Daario Naharis’ chin. 

“I’m strong,” she repeated. In the silence, someone’s voice sounded. “As an ox!” called Jaime Lannister. He rose from his seat, grinning at her, and began to clap all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor brienne. this chapter brought to you by my intense fear of public speaking. honestly, between the interviews and the giant needle that inserts the trackers into the tributes' arms, i'd be dead long before the games started.


	7. Chapter 7

Brienne watched the city lights. She had long given up on sleep, for every time she closed her eyes she was met with not darkness but visions of blood and pain. She might meet any one of those imagined ends within the next 24 hours, maybe less. 

Any hopes she might have harbored about coming out of the Games alive had been dashed on that stage hours ago. Over Jaime’s clapping had come worried titters that crescendoed into shouts, and then Brienne was being herded back to her chair by someone who also wrenched the blade from her hands. She avoided her team afterward, but Goodwin’s horrified expression in the audience stuck with her.

The Games were tomorrow morning, and she had just threatened one of the most recognizable faces in the Capitol on national television. Brienne almost smiled to herself. All those endlessly roving lights beneath her window: how many of them were people talking about her? Mounting terror fused with embarrassment to create a kind of insanity that wrenched a hysterical giggle from her lips. Daario Naharis’ face  _ had _ been a sick kind of satisfying. And then there was Jaime, with his near-crazed grin, giving her a round of applause before his sister yanked him back into his seat. 

Brienne wondered if he was sleeping soundly. 

“Tomorrow I may die,” she whispered, trying to ground herself in the reality of her fate. The words fogged against the window. Either she could go like a squealing sow to her death, or she could face it with her shoulders back and, ideally, a blade in her hands. 

In truth, it felt good to hold that sword to Daario Naharis’ throat. It felt good to know that she had that power, that steel cut the citizens of the Capitol as easily as it did a fish thief from District 5. It would cut down her fellow Tributes just as well. The Gamemakers might make her life hard in the Arena, but they had promised to do that anyway.  _ If I die, I will die knowing that I pressed a blade to their throats.  _

She and Hyle ate breakfast together the next morning before dawn. By the looks of him, Hyle had not found sleep either. He bounced his leg with such speed that the teacups on the table rattled in their saucers. Brienne said nothing and kept her head down until Catelyn reached across the table and placed a palm on each of their cheeks. Hyle instantly yanked his head away, but Brienne held Catelyn’s misty eyes until she removed her hand.

Hyle glanced at Brienne as a pair of mute Avoxes moved forward to clear their plates. “Goodwin was pissed last night,” he said quietly, casting a glance at Catelyn, who appeared not to hear. Their other mentor had not come to breakfast. “He thought sure you’d pinned a target on your back. But on the way back to the compound, calls started coming in from sponsors. People think you have spunk, apparently. I can’t imagine why.” A smile ghosted across his pale face. 

Before Brienne could muster a response through her surprise, Sansa and her team materialized to take them to the hovercraft. 

“Here.” Hyle pressed something into Brienne’s hand. “A token from Five. I have the other half.” Then he was gone, and Sansa was leading Brienne to the roof and into the hovercraft bound for the Arena.

Brienne hardly noticed the tracker being inserted into her arm or the straps that buckled her into her seat. She stared down at the small, pink shell that Hyle had given her. There were countless like it on the beaches at home, colorful, ridged scallop shells that Brienne crunched beneath her boots every morning on the way to her father’s boat. She clenched it now as though it was the only one of its kind.

The ride lasted about an hour before the windows blackened and the hovercraft slid into its descent. Brienne followed Sansa into the tunnels beneath the Arena, every instinct telling her to run, to save herself from whatever grisly fate awaited her above. But there was nowhere to go, and Brienne forced herself to lift her chin and take measured strides. 

Sansa led her to a small, gray room that contained nothing but a shower, a small table, and the launch tube. Brienne studiously avoided looking at the tube as Sansa helped her dress in the clothing from the package provided. 

“Strange,” said Sansa, holding up a linen shirt and a light cloak in either hand. 

“What?”

“Oh, these are rather out of style. No one has worn this in the Capitol since the Conquest.”

Brienne pulled on black breeches and supple leather boots, thinking she could hardly care less about whether or not the clothes she might die in were fashionable or not. 

She tried to sit calmly at the table with Sansa while they waited for the call, but a sudden, ferocious energy gripped her, and she began to pace the room. Sansa handed her a glass of water that she quickly drained and refilled. Brienne paced and swiveled in increasing agitation, terror building like a wave in her chest until she was certain that something had to give way, perhaps her legs or her chest.

“Brienne,” said Sansa in her soft voice. “You cannot go into the Arena like this.”

That same insane laugh gurgled in Brienne’s throat, but by the time it passed her lips, it was a sob. “I don’t want to die, Sansa,” she whispered. Saying it to someone else felt like a defeat, like she was only a scared little girl after all.

“You’re not going to die, sweetling.” Sansa sat Brienne down in a chair and cradled her head against her chest. “You are strong, as you said. You must never forget that. Show them your  _ strength _ , Brienne.”

They stayed like that until the call came. Brienne stepped into the tube that would take her into the Arena. Her heartbeat came like pattering rain in her chest, and she clenched her hands to stop them from trembling. Brienne held Sansa’s solemn blue eyes until the tube rose out of sight, thinking they might be the last friendly ones she would ever see. 

It seemed like the tube surged upward for minutes, though in reality it must have only been a few seconds. Then the glass around her dropped away and she burst into searing white daylight, Robert Baratheon’s booming baritone ringing in her ears.

"_Let the 74th annual Hunger Games begin!_”

Then all Brienne heard was the countdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit off a transitional chapter here, but an important one nonetheless. your feedback makes my day! as always, you can find me at summer-songs on tumblr.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning, this chapter does contain descriptions of violence. nothing too graphic, but make sure you take care of yourself, friends.

“60...59...58…”

Brienne blinked hard, forcing herself to settle enough to get a bearing on her surroundings. 

The 24 plates were arranged in a ring inside of what she initially thought was a massive pit, but quickly realized was some sort of giant amphitheater or stadium. Countless rows of seating had been carved into the gray-black stone walls, which stretched upward into curved spires so high that Brienne dared not look for fear of being blinded by the searing sun. 

“49...48...47…”

Her pedestal was positioned perhaps two hundred feet from an arched entryway, broad enough for at least five men to ride through it on horseback. There were four such entrances positioned equidistant around the ring of Tributes. She could see almost nothing outside; the shadows cast by the walls of the stadium ruined her eyes for the brightness beyond.

The ground was pale sand, littered inside the ring with all the treasures one needed to survive in the Arena.

“37...36...35…”

The trail of goods became thicker as Brienne turned her attention inward to the Cornucopia, the great, golden horn sitting so temptingly just a sprint’s distance away. Goodwin had told her privately that she had a better chance than most at snagging a weapon during the initial bloodbath. The decision was all hers: run away with nothing, or risk getting gutted before the hour was out.  _ It would be safer just to leave. Get as far away as I can. _

“29...28...27…”

There in the center, she spotted a pair of long-bladed swords gleaming opposite each other from where they were stuck blade-first into a sort of pedestal — just waiting for someone to snatch it. The sight entranced her.

_ Mine,  _ Brienne thought, suddenly, her hammering heart seeming to still.  _ You’re mine.  _

The sun felt hot on her shoulders, someone whimpered beside her, and the gong signaled the end of the countdown.

Brienne leaped from her plate. She hit the ground at a dead run, cloak billowing behind her as she bolted blindly towards the center of the Cornucopia. She passed backpacks and sleeping bags and sacks of food, ignoring them all. Movement flashed at the corner of her eye, and without thinking, she lashed out with her elbow, sending someone crashing to the sand with a thud she didn’t hear.

Then she was there, hand on the hilt. Someone else arrived at the same moment, grabbing at the twin blade. Brienne seized hers and instinctively dropped into a fighting stance, ready to fight her way out. For a heartbeat, she and Jaime Lannister stared at each other, chaos ringing around them. Then he nodded sharply at her and spun away, blade whirling above his head before it came arcing down towards the boy from District 8.

_ Go. _

Brienne whipped around, lifting her sword in time to block a blow from a club and knock the weapon out of its owner’s hand. She kicked at the boy’s chest, sending him reeling. He scrabbled backward on his hands, mouth moving wordlessly, red hair flopping into his eyes. It reminded her of Podrick. 

Brienne froze. She opened her mouth to tell the boy — she thought he was from District 11 — to run away when an arrow sprouted from the side of his head.  _ Theon.  _ Brienne knew it would be him even before she looked up and met those smiling eyes. Hyle’s friend notched another arrow. 

She grabbed the dead boy’s backpack and bolted for the nearest entryway, leaping bodies still warm in their pools of blood. One arrow whizzed by her ear, but Brienne had hardly a moment’s relief before another slammed into her left shoulder. She screamed and went tumbling to the ground. 

She managed to throw herself behind a crate in time to avoid the next shaft. She waited, shivering in agony, for Theon to come finish the job, but he disappeared back into the fighting. 

Brienne gritted her teeth and forced herself up. She ran for the archway, sword gripped tightly in her fingers. The distance seemed forever. She was nearly there, nearly free, when the sturdy, coarse-haired boy from District 3 loomed in front of her. He held a sword, too.

Brienne saw his eyes and knew that he was here for the kill. She ducked his first strike, feeling it whoosh through the air over her back, and jabbed her point into his knee. The boy shouted and stumbled back, managing a desperate swipe that Brienne flicked aside easily.  _ You have to finish it. There’s no time.  _

She held the boy’s eyes as she plunged her blade into his neck.

Then it was over, and she was gone, fighting through her pain until she was free of the stadium and running, running. She chose a direction at random and wound her way as quickly as she could through dusty cobbled streets. Buildings surrounded her, some short and squat, some tall and leaning, all made of reddish stone and clay. Spanning the street above Brienne’s head were ropes draped with flags, banners, old washing.  _ It’s a city,  _ she thought in wonder —  _ A city with no people.  _

Even so, she didn’t yet dare enter one of the buildings when she was still so close to the Cornucopia. She ducked quickly into an alleyway where she could crouch behind some crates and inspect the wound in her shoulder.

The arrow had not gone all the way through; Brienne could feet its point scraping against her bone. She balled up the bottom of her cloak, speckled as it was with blood, shoved it in her mouth, and wrenched out the shaft. She whimpered with the pain, but there was no time to waste. 

Working swiftly, she removed one of her boots and pressed her rolled-up sock to the wound to soak up the oozing blood. Rifling clumsily through the backpack with her left hand produced a roll of gauze that she used to bind the sock to her shoulder in a makeshift bandage. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Perhaps tonight she could find a way to bathe it. For now, she needed to keep moving.

She set off again at a jog, determined to get as far from the Cornucopia as possible before the sun went down. The Careers would be out hunting by then, combing the city streets for victims lucky enough to escape the initial bloodbath. Almost on cue, the cannons began to fire for the first wave of the dead. 

Brienne counted on her fingers. Six. Six dead in those first few minutes. Eighteen left to play.

She made good time in those next few hours. She stuck to the shade on the sides of the streets, trying to avoid the pulsing white sun. The city must have been immense; hours of walking and jogging seemed to bring only endless narrow streets and slummy houses that reminded her of the poorest, oldest neighborhoods in District 5. The only reassurance that she was making progress came from the dwindling stadium behind her, whose curved stone spires faded into thin pencil strokes across the sky.

It was on one of these backward glances that an itch of familiarity pricked Brienne’s brain. The sun was nearly down. After a careful survey, she selected a plain, brown apartment building of medium height, one that her eyes naturally skipped over when scanning the street. She entered cautiously, but the building was empty.

In spite of herself, Brienne had to marvel that the place was fully furnished by the Gamemakers, albeit dilapidated and plainly abandoned. Dust coated every creaky surface. Brienne poked around some of the drawers, hoping for some food or an extra weapon, but they were all empty.

She climbed a rotting staircase to the top floor, where she selected a room whose window faced the way she came. After a careful scan of the streets below, she stuck her head out the window and peered back towards the stadium. Yes, yes, she could see it now that she was far enough away. The gray spires curving up and inward like a giant stone nest with a hole at the top. The many roads leading inward from the heart of the city. She had thought it looked like a pit, a Dragon Pit. And if she looked to the East…

“The Red Keep,” Brienne whispered. “We’re in King’s Landing.” And it was, King’s Landing before the Conquest, ages and ages ago, when the Keep was still a castle and the Dragon Pit still held dragons. The whole city, recreated for these Games.

Still buzzing with her discovery, Brienne sat cross-legged on the floor and began to sort through her backpack. She kept the sword within reach on the floor, though she was certain she would hear if anyone tried to follow her up the staircase. 

The backpack contained a full water bottle, a bag of dried fruit, a small loaf of bread, some salted beef, the gauze, and a strange silvery paste that immediately dried over Brienne’s shoulder wound when she applied it, sealing off the flow of blood. Invaluable. 

Brienne allowed herself a few sips of water, a finger-full of fruit, and a beef strip. The meal hardly filled her stomach, but after a long day on the move, she felt some of her strength return. 

A narrow bed occupied one wall of the room, but Brienne dared not sleep in it for fear of sleeping too comfortably. Such a thing seemed like a trap for those too eager for the prospect of a good night’s sleep. Instead, she dragged the thin blanket over to the corner by the window and positioned herself so that she could see the night sky.

The Capitol anthem blared, announcing the recap of the day’s deaths. Six. Brienne swallowed hard, wondering if she was about to see Hyle’s face. Could she have missed him at the bloodbath? No, he would have taken Goodwin’s advice and turned on his heel the moment the gong rang.

Brienne took his pink shell out of her pocket and gripped it so that the ridges bit into her palm. Hyle had been at turns kind and venomous, but the thought of him gray and bloodless turned her stomach.  _ He wasn’t horrible. He was just a boy.  _

Then there was Jaime. Brienne remembered his quick grin, his curly hair, the intensity of his gaze that moment at the Cornucopia. As the enormous screen flashed into view across the sky, she thought suddenly that she could not bear it if she were to see Jaime Lannister’s face. 

But neither of the Lannister twins appeared in the sky. There was the girl from Two, there the boy from Three who Brienne had killed. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of him. Then the girl from Seven, the stocky boy from Eight who had sat with Brienne and Hyle at lunch, and both from Eleven, yes, there was the boy Theon had shot. 

No Hyle, no Jaime.  _ And me, I’m still here.  _ Brienne curled up on the hard wooden floor and pulled the blanket tight around her. The sword she kept bound to her hand with a bit of gauze. Sleep took its time coming, but when it finally took hold, it was dark and dreamless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel the need to give a quick guide to my senseless vision for which tributes belong where. keep in mind not every district has two named characters, and also that i've disregarded blood relations between characters unless i specify otherwise (like with the twins). too many people are related in asoiaf.
> 
> Jaime/Cersei - 1  
Gregor Clegane - 2   
Jorah/Dany - 3  
Stannis/Mel - 4   
Brienne/Hyle - 5  
Littlefinger - 6  
Theon - 7  
Quentyn/Nymeria Sand - 8  
Gendry - 9  
Robb/Lyanna - 10  
Edmure - 11  
Tormund/Ygritte - 12
> 
> dead so far: girl from 2, jorah, girl from 7, quentyn, edmure and the girl from 11. eighteen left to play.


	9. Chapter 9

She woke to the sound of voices in the street below. Distant at first, but moving ever closer. Sound carried easily among the stone buildings. 

Brienne sat up, sword clenched tight in her fist, and edged towards the open window. There was no mistaking the approaching clamor for anything but the Career pack; no one else would be so bold or so numerous. She couldn’t see them, but the crash of wooden doors and breaking furniture told her all she needed to know: they were checking buildings. 

She snatched up her few belongings, shoving the blanket and the gauze she’d used to bind the sword to her hands into the backpack, and settled into a crouch. With so many buildings on one street, the Careers might not even come into hers, but Brienne could hardly take that chance. Pale light at the edge of the skyline told her that it was nearly time to move on anyway. The Careers had paused in the square outside her building and seemed to be discussing something amongst themselves. They were just outside Brienne’s eye line, but she could pick out their voices well enough.

“...never get anywhere like this,” a boy was saying. Brienne thought it might be Jaime’s sparring partner, Stannis. “We’re better off heading back to the Cornucopia and resting. More likely we find people on the move during the day.”

“I say one’s stopping you from going back on your own.”

“Hush up, Tormund, we can hardly afford to bicker among ourselves.” That was Melisandre. “Stannis has a point. Everyone with any sense is stowed away for the night. Anyone we find will be purely by chance. Why not hunt tomorrow when the smallfolk will be scurrying around looking for supplies?”

Smallfolk. Brienne held back a sniff. She gnawed at her lip, silently willing the pack to take Melisandre’s advice. The cameras must be on her face now, the audience beside themselves with glee at Brienne’s deadly proximity to the most dangerous enemies in the Games. Thinking of her father and Podrick watching made Brienne’s stomach clench.  _ They will not see me die.  _ She scanned the cityscape outside her window and weighed her options. There weren’t many. She could drop into the alleyway below and risk breaking a leg, or worse. She could slip down the stairs and try to crawl silently out a back window. Most enticing was the building just across the alley, with its flat roof and rough clay siding. She would have to leap for it and pull herself up, but, Brienne thought, it was the only way.

The Careers had been arguing with each other while she thought, but now one voice rose above the rest. “All of you, shut up,” snapped Jaime. “We’ll check around this square and then go back before I gut you right here in the street.”

That quieted them. Brienne listened while they broke off into groups and set about searching alleyways and merchant stalls. A chill ran through her body at the sight of flashlight beams sweeping the cobbled street. Below, she could hear Cersei and another girl, perhaps the one from District 2, talking as they sorted around some boxes in the alley between Brienne’s building and the one she had deemed her escape route. 

“Nothing,” muttered the girl from Two. There was a thud; maybe she had kicked at one of the boxes. “What a bloody waste of time.” 

“Check that corner, and we’ll go,” said Cersei. Brienne had no trouble recognizing her lilting voice. 

There was a shuffling and scraping of wood on stone, then Brienne heard a wet  _ thunk _ and a breathless gasp. It was a noise she would not have recognized only a day before, but after the bloodbath at the Cornucopia there was no mistaking the sound of a killing. She stifled a gasp as the body hit the ground with a soft thump.

A scream rang out. “What are you doing?” shrieked Cersei. There was a crash as she fell into the stack of boxes. “Jaime, where are you?  _ Jaime _ .” 

The cannon fired.

“ _ Cersei _ .” His footsteps came hammering into the alley. Brienne heard the whoosh of steel on leather as he drew his sword from a scabbard. “Seven hells, what happened?”

“She attacked me. I only just managed to disarm her.”

“Gods, you’re bleeding,” said Melisandre. 

“Good riddance,” said Tormund. “If she couldn’t manage one unexpecting girl, I doubt we’ll be bloody missing her.”

“I suppose you’ll be happy to tell Gregor about it when we get back,” said Stannis.

“As if the cunt would have anything to say.”

“No, he’ll just break all of our necks.” 

“Perhaps he’s broken Petyr’s already.”

“ _ Quiet _ ,” shouted Jaime, causing Brienne to start. “All of you leave. I need a moment with my sister. Brienne clenched her fists.  _ Leave, just leave.  _

“I won’t leave you again,” said Jaime. His voice was muffled, as though he was speaking into his sister’s hair. “I swear it.”

“I could have died, Jaime.”

“I’ll be there next time. You —”

He broke off as someone yelled from the square. “There’s  _ blood _ here. Someone went into this building.” All at once, whoops rang out, and footsteps began stomping up the stairs to where Brienne was hiding.

She gasped, and without a moment’s hesitation, stepped onto the window sill and launched herself across the alley. Her hands caught the edge of the roof, body following with a thud. Brienne bit back a scream as her wounded shoulder began to bleed anew. Trembling with the effort, she hauled herself up onto the roof and rolled behind its protective ledge just as footsteps burst into the room where she had slept. 

Brienne allowed herself a moment to lay there, shuddering, then scrambled to her feet the moment the footsteps receded. She ran from roof to roof, clawing her way up steep sides and lowering herself to flatter areas below. The sun came up above her head, bathing the stones deep red beneath her feet. It hovered just at Brienne’s eye level, pulsing and malevolent, like a sinister reminder that nowhere in the Arena was quite out of reach. 

Brienne slowed her pace only when she was certain that the Careers were long gone. To die at their hands...she could hardly think of a worse ending. 

She mulled over the encounter as she walked. It sounded like they had made the Cornucopia into their base, leaving a pair of defenders behind while the rest went hunting. Apparently, Petyr, the scrawny, weasel-faced boy from Seven, had allied himself with the pack. That was odd. A burly fighter like Tormund, she could understand, but what did Careers want with a little boy from District 7.

Then there was Cersei.  _ She murdered her ally.  _ The Careers invariably turned on each other, but rarely so early in the Games. Brienne shuddered, remembering how easily Cersei had played the victim, slipping smoothly from a sly murderer into a vulnerable girl whimpering in her brother’s arms. How she’d earned Jaime’s devotion was beyond Brienne. She shivered, remembering the look in his eyes when she asked why he had told her of his intended sacrifice.  _ I just wanted someone to know.  _

By midday, she was in the street again, picking her way in the direction of the Red Keep. She was thirsty by now, but forced herself to save what precious water she had left in the bottle. There was a fountain in a great market square below the Keep, at least there was in the King’s Landing that Brienne knew. If she could just get there, she could have a reliable water source, maybe even food from some of the market stalls.

The thought made her pick up her pace, and it was this that saved her. 

Striding quickly, she just had time to note the strangeness of a cobblestone beneath her feet before it sank into the ground with a  _ click _ , and the street behind her crumbled. Her back foot shot out into hot nothingness. Brienne shouted with surprise, managing only just to throw herself forward on her good foot and roll onto solid ground. She lay there panting for a minute before she dared look at what might have awaited her. 

It was wildfire, green and roiling, seething at the bottom of the pit like it knew that Brienne had escaped its wrath. Brienne had to wrench her gaze away from its terrible glow, and even then she felt she could still feel the heat behind her eyelids. The tip of her boot was nearly burned away.

The traps became more evident after that. Brienne noticed more discolored stones, as well as hair-like tripwires, and stairways with one newly-repaired board. Perhaps someone else had not been so lucky as she had; some hours after her near-fall, a cannon rang out. Brienne’s nerves were fried.

The constant tension coupled with the ever-present heat to make Brienne’s head pound. Her wounded shoulder burned fiercely, helped not at all by all the climbing she had done today. She drank the last of her water, praying it would be enough to get her to the fountain she remembered. 

Afternoon was fading by the time Brienne found what she thought was the right street. She had only seen this place from above, but...yes, there it was! Caution thrown to the wind, she rushed forward, thinking only of that cold, sweet water. 

And so it happened that she nearly reached the fountain before noticing the boy crouched at its base. 

“Hyle?” The word was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. 

“Brienne.” He stood, raising empty hands. “Good to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback means the world! bit of a slow burn here, i know, but all good things to those who wait. 
> 
> dead in this chapter: the nameless girl from two, and poor ygritte from twelve. something gnarly with arrows, i'd think.


	10. Chapter 10

Before Brienne could move, something sharp pricked her back. She stiffened, fighting the urge to run.

“It’s all right, Lyanna, she’s a friend,” called Hyle. The point disappeared. Brienne turned around slowly to see a slight girl with wild black hair glaring up at her. Gripped firmly between her hands was a sort of spear made out of what looked like a broom handle and a long shard of broken glass.

Lyanna stepped back, casting a glance at the sword shoved into Brienne’s belt. “A friend? Or an enemy you don’t want?”

“For now, I think those two are about the same.” Hyle came to stand beside her. He looked a lot better than Brienne felt, dirty and on edge, but with no wounds that she could see. A small bag hung off one shoulder, and he carried a rough glass dagger on his belt. He must have avoided the fighting at the Cornucopia. 

Brienne took a step back. “I’m not here for trouble. I just want a drink. I’ll refill my water bottle and go.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” said Hyle. “Our pack would rival the Careers’ with you in it.”

“Your pack?”

“Robb and Theon are down the block, guarding our supplies.”

Fire sparked in Brienne’s belly. “A week ago, you wanted nothing to do with me. Now you want me to join you?”

“You said yourself that I should wash my hands of you. Things changed. People liked your act at the interviews.” Hyle looked at Lyanna, who nodded. “Anyways, we’re probably your best shot, Brienne. The Careers are out for you. Robb heard them talking. All of us together might have a chance against them.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Trust us as far as you like,” said Lyanna. She leaned on her spear. “If you’re as good with that sword as Hyle seems to think, then you should be able to fend us off.” She tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow. 

Brienne hesitated, weighing her options. If the Careers really were hunting her — and she had no trouble believing it — then having allies might be her best chance. But these allies? Lyanna and Robb, who she didn’t know; Theon, who had tried to kill her a day before; and Hyle, who had proved himself untrustworthy more than once. Brienne clenched her fists, thinking of Jaime whirling a sword above his head, of the sheer size of Gregor from District 2. She thought of the pink shell in her pocket.

“Where is your camp?” she said at last.

Hyle grinned. “Follow us.”

Brienne filled her water bottle and did just that. She took small sips as they walked, her throbbing head beginning to clear as she did so. The sun sank behind them; Brienne walked behind her disappearing shadow. By the time they reached the shop where the pack had made camp, a murky twilight had settled over the city. 

Lyanna whistled twice. An identical reply came from within, and after a moment’s wait, someone opened the door. 

“Quickly,” said Robb, ushering them in. He blinked at Brienne in evident surprise but stepped aside for her after a word from Lyanna. Once they were all in, he hauled a wooden bench back in front of the door. 

They were set up in the back room, a storage closet, or a workroom — Brienne couldn’t tell. A few blankets lay on the dust-covered floor. A homemade spear, identical to Lyanna’s, lay beside one. On one side of the room sat a workbench, on top of which laid the supplies Robb and Theon had stayed behind to guard. Brienne saw Theon’s longbow and quiver, a bag of apples, a pot, and a coil of rope. This is what they’re protecting?

Theon stood as they entered. “Brienne’s agreed to join us,” said Hyle, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture that Brienne guessed was as much for the cameras as it was for Theon and Robb. “She has food on her, and I can vouch for her skill with that sword.”

“I don’t need you to vouch for me.” Brienne thrust out her chin and cast Hyle a dark look. He hadn’t mentioned that they were short on food. “I promise to protect your lives as you’ll protect mine. If you’ll have me.”

Theon grinned and made a mock bow. “Consider your life protected.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Robb stayed silent. Before Brienne could move to say anything else, a cannon went off. All of them jumped, tension broken.

Robb shook his head and extended his hand to Brienne. He looked her in the eye when she shook it and said, “Our word is good if yours is.” 

“Brienne’s word is always good,” said Hyle. He handed Robb and Theon each a waterskin that he had filled at the fountain. Catching Brienne frowning at the meagre pile of supplies, he added, “Only Theon ran into the Bloodbath —”

“Which wasn’t what we planned,” grumbled Robb.

“...so we’ve been eating apples for a couple of days,” Hyle finished. He sighed.

“Robb and I are good hunters, with Ten producing furs and all. We thought there would be trees...a plain. Something.” Lyanna sat down on her blanket with a sigh.

That night, they ate an apple each, and Brienne shared her strips of salted beef. It was a meager supper, and after a long day of walking, Brienne’s stomach ached with emptiness. Afterward, Lyanna helped her change the blood-soaked gauze on her shoulder, neither of them commenting on the source of the wound. 

When the Capitol anthem blared, they crouched by the window, sipping water as the face of the girl from District 8 flashed across the sky. 

“She was strong,” remarked Robb after the final flourish. The shop seemed suddenly quite dark without the screen’s blueish glow. “I’ll wager the Careers caught her.”

“They’re fighting each other as much as anyone else,” said Brienne. She told them about the girl from District 2. “It might be that they split sooner than anyone expects.”

“The Lannister bastard is the one to worry about,” said Theon. “Always grinning like he knows the Game is his to lose. If he’s the one keeping them all together, an arrow through his eye might put an end to the whole pack. Can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

The others growled their agreement. Brienne stayed silent. She ran her thumb across the blade of her sword, thinking of the identical one undoubtedly in Jaime’s hands at this very moment. His death should have been a welcome prospect, but his applause at the interviews and the boy’s clothes left outside her door put a lump in her throat. He did me a kindness. That is more than most. 

“Did anyone hear that?” asked Hyle. He sat up. “Something just bumped the window from outside.”

They crept to the door, weapons in hand, feet silent on the stone floor. Theon edged his eye around the window, then let out a whoop. Hyle started and nearly stabbed himself on the point of Brienne’s sword. Theon wrestled open the door and snatched a silver parachute sitting on the front step. Attached was a heavy pot of stew with a ladle stuck through the handle. Brienne could have cheered.

“Someone approves of our new ally,” said Lyanna. She flashed Brienne a grin. “Let’s save it for breakfast.”

A handful of days passed without any deaths. They did not want for water, but the food ran out quickly, and soon Brienne was spending her days combing alleyways for rats that they ate charred over embers. Robb caught his leg in a vicious toothed trap that Brienne and Hyle had to pry apart, but the days were unnervingly quiet. 

And so Brienne could hardly find it within herself to be surprised when, on her seventh day in the Arena, the ground began to shake. 

She and Lyanna had been refilling their water bottles in the plaza when they felt the first tremors. Brienne stiffed, and by the time she looked at Lyanna to confirm that she hadn’t imagined it, the earth was shaking in earnest. In the distance, she saw the first building fall.

“These stone buildings will crumble,” Brienne said Lyanna, who had the good sense to quickly screw the lid on her bottle. “The others can’t stay in the shop.”

They sprinted up the block in time to see Hyle, Robb, and Theon burst from the shop only seconds before it crumbled into a pile of dust. 

“Come on,” shouted Robb. He led them up the street, towards Aegon’s High Hill. High ground, thought Brienne dimly. 

All around them, buildings tilted almost comically before crumpling, as though someone had hit them on the back of the knees. Dust swirled so thickly that Brienne could scarecely see Hyle in front of her, could hardly keep her feet for the shuddering of the cobbled street.   
She saw as if in slow motion, a watchtower at the base of the hill fold on itself and crash to the ground. Great chunks of stone tumbled into the street ahead.

A shriek rang out. The shaking of the earth became so violent that Brienne fell to her hands and knees, just barely gripping the sword. Did the others have weapons? She saw Robb and Lyanna struggling to pull a slab of stone off Theon’s writhing body, then saw the spreading pool of blood and knew it was too late.

She coughed up dust and tried to stand. The lurching deck of a ship felt like home to her, but solid ground wasn’t supposed to move. Theon’s cannon went off. Someone shouted. Brienne thought it was Robb, and tried to move towards him, but no, that was the wrong direction. 

Another call rang out, and in a sudden clearing of the dust, Brienne saw the Career pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor nymeria. a real contender, but the careers' numbers overwhelmed her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this chapter contains major character deaths and the most graphic violence so far in this work. if that's not for you, please take care of yourself. feel free to leave a comment asking for a summary.

Brienne scrubbed desperately at her eyes, trying to clear them of the chalky white dusted that coated the world like dry snow. Snow that burned.

The Careers barreled towards them, hooting and hollering, weapons flashing. Hyle shouted for them to run, but Robb and Lyanna charged forward with their glass spears in hand. Brienne did the only thing she could do: she followed them.

She just had time to see Robb duck a blow from a limping Tormund’s ax and drive his spear into the other boy’s stomach before the rest were upon her. Stannis charged her, short sword darting towards her stomach. Brienne slid to the side and stepped inside his guard; he was too close to stab, so she slammed her elbow into his bony side and sent him sprawling.

Stannis rolled to the side, cursing, just in time to avoid Hyle’s plunging dagger in his neck. His sword flashed at Hyle’s thigh, spraying the dust-white stones with blood. Hyle howled and lost his feet, but Brienne was already driving her sword into Stannis’ heart.

As the boy shuddered and stilled, Brienne realized the earth had stopped shaking. 

She turned on unsteady feet to help Hyle off the ground. His leg was cut deep, but he stood with a gasped, “Thanks.” They leaned on each other for a moment. Tormund and Stannis lay on the ground in widening pools of their own blood. Further up the hill, Robb and Lyanna were circling Jaime, whose glinting sword was keeping them at bay. Brienne swallowed.

“We have to help them.” She tugged Hyle in the direction of the fight, but before they had gone two steps, something slammed into the side of Brienne’s head.  _ A club,  _ she thought, in a strange heartbeat of clarity before she crumpled to the ground. The sword clattered from her hands. Unable to move, she saw Gregor’s club strike again at Hyle’s shoulder, heard the crack of bone, and Hyle’s cry as he tried to run. 

Brienne tried to stand, but her body seemed as though it no longer belonged to her. Her eyes blurred, but she could see well enough to recognize the beautiful blonde face that appeared above her. Cersei smiled and settled on top of Brienne, knees pinning her shoulders to the ground. A slender knife danced across her fingers.

“This will hurt,” she said, like it was a gift. Brienne heaved upward, trying weakly to throw her off, but Cersei shoved her head down. She placed the edge of the knife against Brienne’s cheek. “Not even your family will want to look on your face when you die. Maybe then they will understand how the rest of us feel.”

The knife slide downward and Brienne screamed. Cersei cut from her cheekbone to her chin, slicing so deep that Brienne wondered detachedly whether the knife would slip into her mouth. She heard herself cry out, saw dark spots as Cersei widened the wound with the tip of the blade, but the pain itself felt like a memory. Brienne’s eyes found a piece of sky above Cersei’s head. She stared at it until it was all she could see.  _ Look away,  _ she tried to tell her father through the cameras that were undoubtedly watching.  _ Forgive me, Father, forgive me, Podrick. I broke my promise.  _

Cersei laughed at something only she could hear and ran the tip of the knife across Brienne’s throat. Brienne tried to laugh with her; perhaps the knife would slip and spare her whatever torture was to come.

Then someone shouted, and Cersei’s weight disappeared from above her. Brienne heard her shriek as she was thrown to the side. 

“Brienne, get up!” Was that Jaime? “Get  _ up _ .” Was that really Jaime, yelling at her as he held his screaming sister at swordpoint? 

“ _ Run _ ,” Brienne croaked, but she was too late. Gregor swung Tormund’s fallen ax in a devastating arc that sheared cleanly through Jaime’s straightened sword arm. 

Jaime screamed. It was a little boy’s scream, and the sound of it shook something free in Brienne’s head. She scrambled backward on her hands until they closed on something: Hyle’s dagger. Its wooden hilt was sticky with blood. 

Cersei was shouting poison at Jaime, who rolled on the ground, shrieking. She handed Gregor the sword that had been in her brother’s hand.

Brienne hauled herself to her knees, every muscle howling in protest, blood leaking from her cheek onto the ground. She flung Hyle’s glass dagger as hard as she could. Her aim was true. Gregor bellowed as the blade lodged itself in his right shoulder. Brienne stumbled to her feet, snatching her sword off the ground as she did so. 

She started towards Gregor and Cersei, white with dust and red with blood, and whatever the two Careers saw in her eyes made them exchange a glance and back away. They turned tail and disappeared in the direction of the Cornucopia. 

The world was silent. 

“ _ Jaime _ .” Brienne ran to his side. He was curled around his severed limb, sobbing great, heaving sobs. She used her sword to slice a long strip from his cloak and tied a tourniquet as close to the end of his wrist as possible. Immediately, the bleeding began to slow.

“You have to stand.” Brienne tried pulling him up by the armpits, but he cried out so pitifully that she had to pause. “Jaime, we have to go,” she hissed, tugging at him. Cersei and Gregor could be back at any moment. After a moment, he allowed her to draw him to his feet. 

They stood trembling together as the cannons began to fire. One, two, three, four. Tormund, Stannis. Robb, his crumpled form small without him to fill it.  


Hyle. Brienne staggered towards his body. Gregor’s club had caved in the side of his head. The long ends of his hair fluttered in the breeze. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.  _ If I bend down I may never stand up.  _ But she did it anyway, rifling through Hyle’s pockets until she found the other half of the pink shell he had given her. It looked tiny in her hands.

“Brienne,” Jaime whispered. He was beside her, hunched over. 

“I know.” She closed Hyle’s eyes and stood.

Jaime could not walk alone, so she slung an arm around him. Together, they hobbled in the opposite direction that Cersei and Gregor had gone. It was slow going. Jaime kept stopping to vomit until there was nothing left but bile in his stomach. Many of the buildings were leveled completely, blocking the roads and forcing them to take detours through alleys and side streets. The rest were in various states of destruction, some tottering, others seemingly untouched. Brienne cut a swath off the bottom of her cloak and pressed it against her cheek, silent tears cutting down her face as she did. Even so, their wounds leaked blood and created a trail that even a toddler could follow, but Brienne could not care. She could think only of getting as far away as possible. 

When it became clear that Jaime could not go on, she pulled him into a tall building that she thought might be a brothel. They could manage only one flight of stairs. Brienne pulled aside a heavy curtain to one of the side rooms.

“Here.” She pushed Jaime gently on to the bed and collapsed beside him. Anyone could have come upon them, but Brienne hadn’t the strength to take precautions, nor the heart to be afraid. She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her where it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so we say goodbye to stannis, tormund, robb, and hyle. lyanna and the rest of the careers (petyr and melisandre) are currently unaccounted for. i know this was a quick update (is anyone complaining?), but this was the chapter/idea that inspired me to write this fic, and i really couldn't wait to get it down for you guys. as always, your comments make my day!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as requested, here is a list of everyone brienne believes is left to play at the beginning of this chapter: jaime/cersei (1), gregor (2), dany (3), melisandre (4), brienne (5), littlefinger (6), gendry (9), lyanna (10).

Brienne could not say if it was the heat or the pain that woke her. 

She forced herself to sit up, letting out a small cry as agony lanced from her head to her fingertips. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto her wounded cheek, the burn from the salt making her hiss. Raising a hand to the back of her head, she found with relief only a small cut crusted over with dried blood. The force of Gregor’s club had probably done her more harm.

The sun sliced a pattern on the floor. A glance out the open window told her it was past midday.  _ It is tomorrow,  _ Brienne realized. They had slept nearly a full day.

Jaime lay where she had deposited him. The skin on his exposed arm was pale and bruised, but his face was flushed and felt hot beneath Brienne’s fingers. His hand and several inches of what had been his wrist were gone. She could see severed veins hanging limp and gray beneath shreds of blueish skin. 

_ He will die in his sleep if I don’t do something.  _ Perhaps that would be a kindness. 

Brienne shook herself. 

“Jaime.” She pushed at him. “Wake up.”

His eyes shot open. Seeing Brienne, he made to move, then gasped in pain when his stump arm pressed against the mattress. 

“ _ Fuck _ .” Jaime slumped into the pillows, drawing shuddering breaths. He raised a shaking arm and stared at what remained. “Seven bloody hells.” 

“I can help you,” said Brienne, though the wild look in his eyes disturbed her. “People lose limbs on the ships sometimes. I — I have never done it myself, but I’ve seen — ”

“So you’re an idiot, then,” Jaime interrupted. 

“What?”

“Are you mad? You can’t possibly mean to help me.”

Brienne blinked. “You saved me. You didn’t have to.”

“I do stupid things when my blood is up,” Jaime muttered. He looked away. His long hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. 

“Let me look at it, at least.” Brienne held out her hand, and after a moment Jaime allowed her to inspect the wound. “I’ll need to cut away some of this tissue. And then cauterize what’s left of it.” She frowned. “I’m no good at making fires, though.”

“There’s a lighter in my pack,” said Jaime after a beat. He hunched forward. Brienne tried to ease the straps off his shoulders without touching the stump, but it proved too tricky, and she resorted to slicing through the right one with her sword.

Jaime watched her. “I don’t remember what happened to my sword.”

“Cersei took it with her. After she tried making Gregor kill you with it.”

“What? No, that’s not right.”

Brienne stared at him. “You just said you didn’t remember.”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not a liar.” Brienne scowled. “Believe what you want, anyway. This will hurt.” She made him twist so that his arm rested flat on a side table. Standing up made her dizzy, but she stilled her hands as she prepared to cut.

“Wait.” Jaime grabbed a pillow with his left hand and bit down hard. “Do it.”

Even so, he screamed loudly enough that Brienne had to fight every instinct to bolt. She worked as efficiently as she could, removing the tourniquet and slicing through the ragged veins and dying skin, then using a balled-up sheet to stem the fresh blood that came oozing forth. She grabbed the lighter from Jaime’s backpack and held the flame to the narrowest flat of her blade until the edges of the steel took on a red glow. Jaime’s face screwed up in unutterable agony when she pressed the searing blade to the wound, tears sliding down his cheeks as he pounded his fist against the bedrest. 

“Done, done,” said Brienne hurriedly, trying not to gag on the stench of blood and burnt flesh. Jaime made no reply; he had fainted. 

At a bit of a loss, Brienne wrapped the wound in gauze, then dampened a pillowcase and slid it over the end of his arm like a sleeve. Perhaps when he woke it would be dry enough for her to apply some of her precious salve. 

She wanted only to lie down and sleep, but forced herself to clean the wound on her cheek. It was bad, she knew it was bad, and it would only get worse if she left it. Heat pulsed off the torn flesh in waves, and if she opened her jaw too widely, a fresh pulse of blood seeped out. Worse, her skin felt hot and feverish.

Brienne dabbed at it with a damp cloth, eyes screwed shut against the pain. When she thought she had removed all the dust and dried blood, she applied some salve and wrapped it in a gauze bandage that went around her face. A floor-length mirror stood in the corner. Eyes on her feet, Brienne turned it away.

There was nothing else for it, then. She sat by the window with her sword across her knees, taking tiny sips of water to try to stave off the pounding in her head. Jaime muttered in his sleep, brow furrowed so deeply that Brienne had the urge to smooth it with her fingers. 

To try and distract herself from the pain, she settled Jaime’s pack between her feet and rifled through its contents.

She found a length of rope with a hook on one end, a flashlight, a full water bottle and a bag of purification tablets, a small first aid kit, a handful of protein bars, and a bag full of some kind of nuts that Brienne had never seen before. Unsure of how Jaime would react to her eating his food, she set them aside.

Jaime woke with a groan as the sun disappeared behind the skyline. He sat up and, swaying dangerously, came to Brienne’s place by the window.

“Suppose I ought to thank you,” he said, voice like gravel. Brienne watched as he folded his legs rather delicately beneath him.

“Most people would.” 

Jaime shrugged one shoulder. “I never asked for anything. If you weren’t completely thick, you’d have run me through with that sword and been done with it.”

“I still could.”

“But you won’t.” 

Brienne opened her mouth to protest, trying to preserve some power over him, but stopped at the look in his eyes. He had her. “I won’t.”

“Because you’re trying to die better than the rest of us, is that it? Do you think that will make you less dead?” Brienne made no reply. Jaime snorted. “I’d say I have to hand it to you, Five, but it seems I’ve only got the one."

“You talk too much,” said Brienne. She turned her gaze to the darkening sky. Were the cameras on her face? Were Goodwin and Catelyn, her father and Podrick, all cursing her for the fool?

“No anthem,” said Jaime, when the stars had faded all the way in. “A bloodless day. Mostly.” He looked at his bandaged stump. “Pity we missed your friend’s pretty picture last night. Myles? Was that it?”

“Hyle.”

“Hyle. Who else is gone? The smiley boy didn’t have much of a face last I saw him. Tormund got himself run through, and you made quick work of Stannis. I killed the big one from Ten — ”

“His name was Robb,” said Brienne. It chilled her to hear his matter-of-face recounting.

“...and the girl ran off. Melisandre is the last one I can think of.”

Brienne frowned. “She wasn’t there.”

“She was torn to pieces by — well, something  _ alive _ . Must have set off a trap of some sort while we were running for Aegon’s High Hill. It came tearing out of an alley and then she was gone. You wouldn’t have heard a cannon with all the buildings coming down.” 

Silence hung between them. Brienne could think of no fair response.  _ He is a murderer, and I am too _ , she thought miserably. She had killed Stannis without a second thought, and Hyle had still died. His blood-spotted shell weighed heavy in her pocket.

Jaime handed over a protein bar without looking at her, and the two of them chewed slowly, following some unspoken agreement to make the miserable supper last longer. He nodded at Brienne’s wrapped face. “Ugly, that. Someone in the Capitol is already feverishly copying the look.”

Brienne could not tell if he was trying to be cruel or kind. When she replied, her voice was bitter. “They have your sister to thank.”

“She gives wonderful gifts, doesn’t she?” Jaime leaned his head against the windowsill, looking tired and a bit gray. His remaining fingers were balled into a white-knuckled fist, whether from the pain or from something else, Brienne could not determine. 

When he spoke, he spoke softly. “Is it absurd to ask you another favor?”

She watched him wet his lips with his tongue. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Will you take me back to my sister? I won’t make it alone and unarmed.” Brienne blinked, and Jaime went on in a rush. “Just get me to the Cornucopia. If you want, you can join us when we get there. We have food, weapons, some armor.” He paused. “I swore to protect her. I can’t do that from here.”

_ She tried to have us both killed _ , thought Brienne. Instead, she said, “You have one hand.”

“Do I?” 

“How will you protect her?”

“With everything I have left,” said Jaime. He met Brienne’s eyes. “I promised her. You understand that, don’t you? Wouldn’t you have crawled to Galladon’s aid if you could?” 

_ You remembered.  _ Brienne looked at the sword on her knees. A bit of someone’s blood was dried near the tip; she scrubbed at it with her sleeve.

“I’ll go alone if I have to,” said Jaime. “I’m worse than useless now, I know that, but — but I have to try.”

“Nobody’s useless,” murmured Brienne. The wound on her cheek throbbed. She thought of Hyle tugging on his choppy hair, of Sansa saying  _ the song is yours to sing _ , of Jaime leaving clothes at her door. “I’ll take you to your sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting to get into the meat of the shippy stuff here, so thanks to those who have followed along! i know this chapter is a bit dialogue-heavy, but...well, that's what i like to write.


	13. Chapter 13

They were not much of a team. 

Brienne could hardly blame Jaime for all of it. He spent the days after they reached an agreement in and out of consciousness, groaning in his sleep, breathing stuttering breaths that sounded each of them like his last. The agony must have been immense. Brienne could not resent the fact that it fell to her to fend for them when she watched as his gray form seemed to sink into the sheets.

She could not blame him for all of it. But some of it, yes. Jaime’s waking hours were miserable for them both. At turns sullen and breezy, bitterly silent and chatty, he seemed determined to vex Brienne in every way possible. There was no argument too petty, no jape too rude, for Jaime to keep his mouth shut. She was ugly, she was boring, she should talk more. Brienne fretted at first over leaving him alone in the brothel while she went out for supplies, but her ventures soon became a source of relief.

Their water ran out the quickest. Brienne tried using a spare sheet to rig a dew collector outside their window, but it produced only a few mouthfuls each morning. She was forced to trek more than an hour each way to the Blackwater to refill their bottles. But for the threat of traps, the city was unnervingly quiet. Only eight left to play. One morning, Brienne glimpsed a flash of silver hair by the water, but the girl from District 3 was gone before she could move. 

She tried convincing Jaime to move to a building nearer to the bay, but he flatly refused. It was the wrong way, he said, meaning he wouldn’t take a step farther away from his sister if he didn’t have to. Brienne could only grit her teeth. 

Jaime could not go ten minutes without mentioning their agreement. He pushed every day for them to pack up and start the journey to the Dragonpit, needling Brienne about her promise as though she might not renege on it at any moment. Perhaps he knew that she wouldn’t. 

They were vulnerable here. Brienne half hoped each moment to hear cannon fire, a signal that the drought of killing had come to an end. Surely audiences in the Capitol were impatient by now. Surely it was only a matter of time before the Gamemakers conjured some fresh horror.

The simple fact was that Jaime could not manage the journey, not yet. It was all she could do to move them to a room that did not reek of blood and corruption. He could scarcely take five steps those first few days; even a simple lap around the room found him shuddering like a spooked dog. Brienne ordered him to rise from the bed and try to walk each day, providing words of encouragement until he began to curse at her, at which point she fell silent. The exercises left him pale and surly and blessedly silent after Brienne helped him back to bed. 

She couldn’t help but mourn for Jaime in those moments. What a warrior he had been! But something was broken in him now. Something that could not quite be put back. Brienne suspected the only thing keeping him from dying was the promise of returning to his sister. Watching him sob in his sleep, she could not find the heart to persuade him of Cersei’s betrayal. 

On the sixth day, a silver parachute floated past her feet and settled on the shore of the Blackwater. Brienne’s heart leaped. She opened the basket just wide enough to catch a glimpse of the food inside, then scooped it up and broke into a jog back in the direction of the brothel.

“_Look_,” she gasped to Jaime when she burst through the curtain to their room. 

“Seven hells, Five, the way you came pounding up those stairs, I thought Gregor Clegane had come to trample me to death.” He was crouched in the corner, gripping a bedpost he’d begged Brienne to break off for him some days ago.

“Sorry.” Out of breath, Brienne sat on the floor beside him and opened the basket. Inside they found bread, meat, a pot of rice, and a few plums. Brienne’s mouth watered. They had run out of food two days ago, and Jaime in his weakened state could not survive long being underfed. The weight was sloughing off of them both. 

“From someone in the Capital,” said Jaime. He produced a yellow, palm-sized cake from beneath the loaf of bread. “Lemon. They had these on the tables during lunch, do you remember?” Brienne made to reply, but he suddenly stood and flung the cake out the window. She stared, mouth half open. “I don’t want their pretty things,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

* * *

They heard a cannon the next afternoon. Jaime froze, then went feral, snatching Brienne’s sword from her side and leveling it at her with a shaking hand, shouting at her to take him to the Dragonpit that instant. He was still weak. Brienne kicked the sword from his hand and shoved him against the wall. Her hand closed around his throat.

“Do that again,” she said calmly, “and I’ll run you through. Understand?”

Jaime’s green eyes were dark. He nodded. Brienne loosened her grip but kept him at bay. “If that cannon was Cersei, then rushing to the Cornucopia won’t do her any good. If it wasn’t, then it wasn’t. We’ll see either way tonight.” Silence fell between them. Brienne’s hand was on Jaime’s shoulder, thumb in the hollow of his collarbone. She turned away, picked up the sword, and sat down to wait.

When the skies darkened and the Capitol anthem blared, the picture in the sky was not Cersei’s. It was Petyr. It took Brienne a second to recognize the slender boy from Six, but when she did, the momentary relief she had felt at his picture evaporated. 

Jaime was stiff. “He was at the Cornucopia.”

“I know.”

“You know?” He frowned. Brienne cursed herself. 

“I was the one you all tried to catch that one night. In the apartment.” 

“I had a feeling that was you.”

_ Did you? _“I heard someone mention his name. Petyr. I didn’t understand why you kept him around.”

“He could talk you into anything,” said Jaime. He rubbed at his hair. “We wouldn’t have won Tormund to our side without him. He was clever, had everyone in the Games figured out. Cersei thought he would be useful for a time.”

“He must have outlived his use,” said Brienne. 

“Gregor may have turned on them.” Jaime took a fistful of his hair, pulled it tight, let it go. 

“Jaime,” said Brienne after a moment. He looked at her. It made Brienne’s skin feel hot when he did that, look her full in the face. Most people looked only at her chin or her ear. She blinked, flustered. “I heard what happened in the alley that night. The girl from Two. Cersei killed her.”

She had expected denial, but Jaime only nodded slowly. “I know,” he said, heavy. His eyes looked far away. “She didn’t like her much, gods know why. Nothing good ever happens to people Cersei doesn’t like.” He paused. “I know she gave Gregor that sword to finish me, too.”

Brienne blinked. “You...then why go back?”

Jaime smiled his bitter smile. “Can you keep a secret, Five?” Cameras all around. “If I’m going to die, I want to die properly. I want to do it my way. I suppose that makes me like you. I’ve always been Cersei’s protector. Don’t ask me if she deserves it. I just…” He sighed. “I want to do what I said I was going to do.”

“I understand,” said Brienne, and she did. She looked out the window. With no lights in the city, there seemed to be as many stars as there was black in the sky. “You got your wish,” she said, pointing.

“My wish?”

“On the roof that night. You said you hoped there would be stars in the Arena.”

She felt Jaime looking at her and not at the stars. “We leave tomorrow,” he said quietly, and Brienne could only nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip petyr. if only we knew what happened...

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments are much appreciated... i have a pretty clear idea of where this will go, so your speculation will allow me a few evil laughs.


End file.
